Reflection of Fallen Stars
by Fragment of a Memory
Summary: After his sacrifice, Robin finds himself in a world that is both familiar and foreign. Now, he must find a way back home while investigating the Grimleal…and come to terms with the fact that he's married to his best friend. /M!RobinxChrom


_"Robin! No!"_

_"Thank you, Chrom. For…everything… Tell the others…my last thoughts were of them._

_May we meet again, in a better life…"_

_"Robin! No! Ah gods, NO!"_

The darkness went on forever. Robin drifted in a void, his mind flickering in and out of consciousness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. He couldn't tell how long he floated in black spaces. Faint, brushing gently against his mind, sometimes he could hear voices. He swore they sounded like Chrom, or Lissa, or Lucina, or another of his friends.

"…ease, wa…soon."

"Can't go….t….yet."

Other voices belonged to strangers.

"Increase medica…"

"No si…improvem…"

No matter how hard he strained, the words refused to become clearer. Who are you? he wanted to ask. Where am I? When can I open my eyes?

Naga said that he could come back if his bonds with others were strong enough, but he had no idea where he was. If he had ceased to exist, how could he hear them, and why could he think? He wanted to answer his friends so badly. He wanted to reassure his wife and daughter that he was fine and would be coming home soon if only he could find the way. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe this nothingness, this aching silence, was Hell; his punishment for the evil blood which coursed through his veins.

Time was meaningless. There was no measure in existence. So many questions and no answers to be found. Was Morgan alright without him? Was Emmeryn? Had years passed already, and Morgan a young woman with a husband? Was Chrom's reign a peaceful one? Perhaps his friends were old now. Perhaps they'd died and were rotting in the ground; perhaps the words spoken to him weren't theirs but a growing madness in this lightless place.

Intangible thoughts from a phantom mind received no answer, and in the place of such he only thought of more. He didn't know how much time passed for it felt like seconds and years at the same time. He wanted to hear more, touch something, see anything. But he felt nothing and his eyelids felt like too heavy, trapped under the weight of mountains.

Then, in the length of a heartbeat or an age, the mountains began to crumble. And he struggled, and fought, until the darkness faded into a haze of painful light and color. He couldn't hear anything, his body could not even twitch, and the splatters of color refused to focus into recognizable shapes. A splash of blue came into view, framing what he could only guess was a face, and darkness crept around the edges of his vision to his horror. He saw a mouth rapidly move, forming soundless words, before black spilled and covered everything once more.

His resumed imprisonment was all the more lonely without littered bits of noise to keep him company. He felt more restless and frustrated than ever before. He had been so close, he was sure of it. If only, if only he could keep pushing, then just maybe-

His thoughts ceased, and when they returned if felt as if time had indeed passed. His eyelids didn't feel quite so heavy, nor did they resist as much when he tried opening them. The light and blur of color returned. But this time, they sharpened into objects that he could actually see. But he didn't know what he was seeing. White walls and wooden chairs, he was in a bed. Those were the things he knew. The things he didn't – things connected to his, in him, and he could hear a birdsong, a piercing one slowed down to single out each distinct note, a light above him searing his eyes, his head pounded, and his mind was sluggish. He couldn't think, he couldn't understand, he couldn't piece it together and fear bloomed within him. He had to get away. Yet his body wouldn't move. Panic filled him as his limbs refused to listen to his mental demands. He had to at least see-

A soft moan that did not belong to him reached his ears. It was so familiar, calling to him, a beckoning he could do nothing but answer to. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head to look. There was a man sitting next to him, his upper body leaned on the bed, his face towards him, eyes closed in slumber.

Chrom.

The sight of his best friend soothed his worries like cool water on a burn. His mind could accept this, for wherever he was, Chrom was here, and together they could solve any problem.

Everything still felt hazy. He moved his lips to speak, only for nothing to come out. His mouth felt almost painfully dry, but he couldn't stop. Again and again he tried to say his friend's name, and in the end only a groan came out.

Chrom's eyes fluttered open, sleep groggy blue meeting brown, and they immediately sharpened as he stood up with a jerk.

"Robin! Oh God, Robin." Robin felt a hand cup one side of his face, and Chrom briefly looked over his shoulder, calling out for someone. Robin could already feel himself falling back into the darkness, sounds melting into silence, but this time he did not dread it, for he was sure he would be fine now. He could feel a thumb stroking his cheek, and Chrom was smiling so happily at him and talking so quickly, and he could swear Chrom was crying.

Perhaps if he'd been more aware, he would have noticed the exact same rings on their ring fingers, or heard Chrom call him sweetheart, but he didn't, nor did he feel Chrom's chapped lips upon his forehead a split second after he closed his eyes once again. But he didn't. He only felt the warmth of safety and the unsaid promise that everything would be alright.


End file.
